The Triumvirate
by Maverick87
Summary: Three steps is all it takes...I think.
1. Chapter 1

**Legal Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic or SEGA or anything like that.**

**The Triumvirate **

Water.

Water equals the ocean.

I am in a rowboat. The only thing left is my mind, the vessel, and a broken oar.

You think that would be more than enough.  
You think when you are alone.  
You are certain of the objective.

Darwinism. Failing.

What is skin constantly burned by the floating sun?  
Why is the water mocking you? You cannot drink it, no matter how succulent it looks.

Ocean I thought you were my home, I loved you, yet...you are just a siren.

You sang to me. The waves crashing. I can remember the melodic tune, sweet, like a soft, sleeping kiss. A wave could crash into me. The undertow… to pull me to eternity. With you I could disappear.

Betrothed is betrayed or so they say.

---------------------------------------------

I keep looking in. Into you, as I look into me.

My gaze is a fleeting reminder. Do you remember all those times we talked?

Trivial. Everything is.

Controlling the tides...Can you pull me back?

You never could.

A transformation configured by a time when I wanted it all. Fullness; the desire to be something great. Your clarity...Your openness… it beckoned a long time ago.

The night is cold and secretly you're colder. The shivering keeps me awake. A forged, fake, "naturalistic euphoria" wisped away my resolve.

Tears.

I am finally losing it. Starvation is long, slow, painful process.

Broken.

The water never looked so inviting before.

Water equals the ocean.

The moon controls the ocean.

Unification.

There is no more sorrow this time. No more sorrow only more sense.

---------------------------------------------------

Falling into the cold water.

That's the dream, the death, the renaissance I've always wanted.

Water equals salvation too.

Everything deserves equality in the world of the living. Take a reframe of the things you step on. The bugs beneath your shoes don't deserve the death you give them.

Or maybe they do…

What if everyone deserves to die?

That could make some sense, despite the macabre intentions.

Do I deserve to die here? My stomach has been eaten alive, my fur thankfully hides the whelps of the sun, and my eyes are malfunctioning.

Again…

You would think that would be enough.

That's funny.

Why can't I see any fish?

---------------------------------

Land.

Dirt.

My hands?

Dirty, faded, my gloves have a lot of holes.

The undertow is a broken masterpiece.

Being pulled in the wrong direction never feels right.

It's land and I am still alive.

This isn't eternity.

Still beautiful though.

Heh.

First the water, then the moon, and now the land. A breach of faith by all three…but….

We came from the water which the moon directed towards land.

The cycle of the beginning, the cycle of the ages.

Was this all supposed to happen? To experience life through a painful gauntlet of water, salt, dirt, the cold weather, and the mind?

That is a thought I should keep.

I'll harvest it.

I'll grow it.

Maybe it'll all become something more, something more through the clockwork.

I have to pick myself out of the sand.

To move from here is the first step

I only hope I still remember how to walk.

_Maverick87-2008_

**I know things are cloudy right now, but more will come later.**


	2. Pain

**Chapter 1: Pain**

I've been eating sand for the past eight hours. And just when you think two days isn't long; you're forced to experience time in a new window and a new dimension.

This could all be called perdition or purgatory. I'm unsure of which.

It feels more like punishment.

I washed up near a banana tree and I can't remember the last time I ate. The temptation from above is there and it is killing me. Like sticking a dagger slowly and painfully into my stomach; I just want to scream out.

I remember the old days, the old days of fun and joy. A god in my own world, anyone would praise me and living for the moment was something I did all the time.

Now the only thing left is suffering.

Sufferings, anguish, pain, lifelessness, insanity, all are, and for a long time really, have been good friends of mine. Better than the friends I used to have anyway. They actually stick around, and to a stranger reach, help me get through the day.

Nothing is even possible right now. All my muscles have dissolved disintegrated, and the simplest of movements hurt and crack like a whip. A masochist would even find this as torture.

Pain is truth, a motto I've learned, and the only reminder that you're awake and alive and real.

Why is this so hard then?

"Seeing" is "believing" right?

I've seen hell, and for a little while I used to believe in it, so…. why is it so hard to experience?

That's a question I'll answer whenever I get the courage to get up and out of here.

Who knows when that'll be?

--

Two hours.

Three and a half feet.

That's how far I've moved, well walking anyways, before my legs go numb and I fall back down. Crawling would be forgiving, but using my two feet would make escaping predators easier. And besides, my skin is blistered and broken, which makes belly crawling a hindrance known only to snakes.

The sun is setting behind me. What a cliché. Seems appropriate enough that nature agrees with my conscience…

Time to take a dirt nap, literally.

--

To say the least I was proud of him for what he did. Sure she died, but he helped her hang on as long as he could.

Antoine was such a good guy. A real man of character, a renaissance man of this new age.

Hell he got me my first real job, and thanks to him I got promoted, and…..

Damn it.

He's the reason I was on the boat.

--

There's a reason why you have hesitation when you first want to buy contact lenses. Have you ever torn or lost them? Worse, have you ever gotten something in your eyes?

Sleeping in the sand can do these things.

The burning itching twitching torture isn't worth it. Sight has become flawed with the flutters of my eyelids.

Tree, blink-blink-blink-blink-blink fallen coconut? blink-blink-blink.

Time to close my eyes…Breathe out and reevaluate the situation.

--

Option one: Take your contacts out.

Rebuttal: My vision has deteriorated to the point of nothingness without them. If I can't see, the odds of me surviving this place are small.

Option two: Give up.

Rebuttal: I tried that and here I am. Apparently I am supposed to stay alive.

Option three: Wait it out.

Rebuttal: It should cease. Even if it lingers I'll get used to it.

I swear I'll get used to the pain.

--

It's probably been ten minutes. My eyes have adjusted and I'm fine. And here I thought hell didn't offer consolations. Like metaphorical ice water for the soul I feel strangely optimistic.

I should get up.

I have to get up.

The longer I lay here the worse things are going to get. Rolling over and my skin is hardened. Almost reshaped by the earth I've slept in, yet I feel prepared this time. The burning and stinging won't stop my march. There's a group of palm trees. Beaten to death by the wind or a storm, a perfect little oasis beckons me.

Pain is love; the love that reminds of who you really are. The special moment where the edge flirts, the tears dry up, and every single thing you ever cared about dies. Seventeen steps and I'm almost to the shade.

This new slate feels…better.

I'm eighteen. Eighteen and still here, still alive.

Still alive after failing.

Still alive after falling.

Still alive after drowning.

Forty-five steps and the I welcome the trees by falling against them. Rest, to sit down, to relax, this is good news.

This is the counterargument I've always prayed for.

--

When you're a child things feel magnified. This swarm of palm trees I'm under should have been massive. A monument of natural beauty, a bombardment of awe and wonder should have left me stumbling around. Now I am older and this place is small, minuscule, and overrated.

It's not much of a place to sleep. Mother Nature made this tent three sizes too small. My head scrapes the top and my back stretches against the trunks behind me. Tonight I'm not lying in the sand; I'll fall asleep sitting straight up. A nicer bed is all I want from this and that's all that matters for now.

Look at my hands.

My gloves voluntarily came off earlier. The sun eroded them away and my dirty claws become inviting. I feel like doing it all over again.

I have to stop this itching.

scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratch

Heaven has never come from something so meaningless.

scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratch

God why can't I stop this?

scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch

Heh. No answer.

--

The moon is shining off the water. The tide pulled back and you can see the feral sand crabs.

Oh god.

Why wasn't I eaten by crabs?

I guess I am luckier than I thought.

But….

It's funny….

This is the first night I've felt calm. Or at least close to it.

The sun isn't attacking and the nights aren't cold here. There's no boat to sink in and the silent night isn't randomly broken by my screaming. Tears aren't flowing, my body isn't convulsing, and for once I feel free to breathe aloud.

Trying to kill myself might have been the best thing to ever happen to me.

For once…the world isn't moving anymore.

scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratchscratch  
scratchscratchscratchscratch

--

Unbearable.

I've torn it completely off.

The fur on my left arm is scratched away. The whelps and bumps and bruises...

Two weeks on a boat did this to me.

Antoine did this to me.

Heh.

Pain is visible. It's not always just a feeling or a thought. Sometimes it likes to be vocal and talk to you. Sometimes the visual aid combines with your feelings and you're left to the vices that you love and hate so much. Like scratching yourself.

My eyes feel heavy. How long have I been up?

I need to sleep. Sleep is for tomorrow.

And tomorrow will be for food.

And tomorrow…

I'll start on the right arm.

--

_Maverick87-2008_


	3. Vision

**Chapter 2: Vision**

Awakening to exhale deep and long.

This is perfect.

The worst feeling in the world is to hear your breath shaking. It means you're stumbling, you're weakening, and that isn't like me at all. People consider other people to just be "other people" but things aren't like that. If you could look into my eyes you'd see the meaning to everything. The universe could be that much clearer to you because I am the clearest thing you can look at.

An animal on the last lifelines he can think of. Savagery replicated and refined into a fox that has lived more in the past two weeks and three days then the last eighteen years.

When nothing remains, when you got nothing left, when the rope is about to snap and plunge you into the deepest, darkest thoughts and hallucinations of your own cerebral-mucked fear, when you scratch the skin right off your body to see just how beaten and broken up you truly are, that that that that that that is clarity. That is seeing things for the first time, contact lenses or not.

Maybe this is why I survived.

Endurance, like a loving friend, gives me sight beyond my eyes and beyond my soul.

* * *

Now I can see thunderheads.

The lightning flashes and black, puffy clouds beckon me to remember what happened.

The night the ship sank.

* * *

"You want a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke."

"You sure hun?"

"I said I don't freaking smoke! What part of that did you miss?!"

"Sorry….You just look a little nervous."

"Why in the hell would I be nervous?"

"You…You don't think this is a big deal?"

"It's just another shipment to another town for another measly five mobiums added to my paycheck!"

"……………………………………."

She didn't know what to say and I'm pretty sure I summed it up with three words.

"God…this sucks."

"Just tell me if you need anything."

"Get off me will ya?"

The way her head shook left to right made me feel more uneasy. Like a bad child being reprimanded for not sharing, or telling a lie; she literally had nerves of metal.

She especially knew better than to stare at me like that. Hell, a lot of people did. The way she left the room, the way her blue eyes fleeted with possible tears; it just pissed me off. The metal door closed with a gong-like bang signaling her departure.

"Freakin' bitch."

Need something? She wanted to know if I _needed_ something? This was the kind routine that drove me to insanity. If I needed something I would have simply stated "Hey Bunnie get me a porno magazine!" Then I would dismiss her and we would be done with the whole thing!

Damn it!

The air around me enters my nose swiftly and softly. I need to calm down.

This isn't the way you're supposed to treat friends.

Me and Bunnie usually get along fine, it just that today, I want to sleep. I don't want to know what is going on and I don't want to do any work that involves getting anywhere. Today is Sunday and Sundays are meant for laziness.

Why does everybody want to talk to me today?

This is the burning question, the one that flickers my spinal cord and makes my face harden with confusion.

It's not fun being a moron like this. The problem is that when I want to be left alone, is when people want my opinion or my expertise that kills me. It kills me and makes me want to kill other people for it. If you want an opinion from me, I'll give it to you, but don't come asking around for it. All that does is annoy me.

I throw myself into bed. The cool green sheets feel nice, nicer than I anticipated, and sleep feels imminent. It's three o'clock in the afternoon and for once I couldn't care about the trouble. Sure there would be people later to moan, and complain, and tell me how I am supposed to be doing my job, but that thought disappeared as I nodded off. Who the hell cared?

* * *

My lights kept flashing on and off, that woke me up. My watch says seven-thirty. Four and half hours are more than I usually get. Before I can react, Bunnie's blue eyes appear before my own.

"Yeah?"

"He said he wants to talk you."

Pushing her away I roll back out of bed. My back aches a little; I must have slept on it wrong. Standing up, I stretch my arms out and my joints cracks and snap much to my displeasure. A couple seconds pass as I rotate the ball joints in my shoulders. Spinning, I meet the rabbit's gaze once more.

"Who?"

"You know who it is sugah."

My loud sigh just reverberates around the room, and again, I feel agitated.

"You woke me up for this?"

"He said it's urgent."

"I bet it really is."

Sarcasm couldn't be any more apparent. Like he _really_ needed to talk to me.

"You are gonna go right?"

"Maybe."

"Please hun?"

I almost laugh as my expression changes. Bunnie's got an agenda of her own.

"What's your problem then? What do you need me to fix?"

Her head sinks a little bit and she thinks she's made a mistake.

"I-it's nothing."

Now I'm laughing, half-fake and half-real. People act like this? Why? Why is everyone so afraid of hurting someone else's feelings? Then I remember the cigarettes. Then I remember everything I like to complain about. Then I remember that I'm in a good mood and that the sleep did me well despite my back. Overreacting can be fun, to see people's reactions, to drive people insane. But not right now. She looks genuinely upset.

"Nothing? You wouldn't have come to me if it was nothing. What is it Bunnie? Just tell me and I'll fix it."

"He keeps banging on the bars in his cell. It's keeping me awake. I went down and asked him to stop but he said he wouldn't until he talked to you. I didn't want to disturb you again, but, but it's killing me!"

I put my glove over her mouth and silence her. I didn't notice it before, but she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Sure she's half-animal, half-robot, but there is still organics. I bet she only wishes she could turn herself off.

We're all human after all aren't we? I mean we're animals technically, but you know what I mean.

"I'll take care of it."

Removing my hand, I move on and leave her there to stand in my room.

This is the kind of thinking that makes me feel like shit.

I wasn't one to be generous. Bunnie and I had known each other for such a long time though I felt it necessary. She had taken care of me for years. I didn't call her aunt for no reason.

But I didn't have time for this.

I had to go talk to Sonic.

* * *

There are always those strange rules. The ones that baffle you, the ones that don't make much sense, that ones that leave you questioning just what the hell is really going on.

When a stowaway is captured upon a ship, there are numerous options on how to deal with it.

Throw them overboard, kill them, torture them, strap them to the front of the boat as a temporary figurehead, or detain them.

I found Sonic in the engine room, the lowest level of the ship. He was inside an old unused box of wrenches, nuts, and bolts, which is funny because I heard him sneezing during a random inspection. Talk about luck. The whole process took only a couple minutes before we found him. The engine areas were gigantic, but my acute hearing picked up on his breathing patterns. He was dirty as hell, covered in coal dust, and it looked like he hadn't eaten since we set sail five days ago.

The first sentence he said after we found him almost made me bust out laughing.

"You guys really need to work on your room service skills…."

The problem was what to do with the bastard.

Sure punishment seemed correct, but to Sonic? He literally had saved all our lives a million times before. Who the hell were we anyway? After all, he was my best friend.

I can be mean, but I decided to be nice for once in my tiny life.

"Clean him up, feed him, and then make a place for him in the brig."

From there I walked out.

Because talking to him, looking at him, smelling him, hearing him, is like putting my face through a meat grinder.

The last words I heard him say cut me a little deep.

"Nice to see you too Tails…"

* * *

I haven't seen him in two days.

And now I had to talk with him? Was he really going to listen to the guy who just tossed him in jail? I can only hope so…

Our brig area, unlike most ships, is clean and shiny. The walls are nicely painted, your reflection floats through the brown floors beneath you, we even have ceiling fans and extra air conditioning to keep the place cool; the "iron-bared hotel" moniker couldn't have fit any better.

There are eight cells, split in two vertical rows each, in other words four to each row. They all have a twin-sized bed and a lavatory. I made sure to put Sonic in back right corner. At least that way no one would have to look at him upon entering.

I fling the metal door open, announcing my arrival with a loud, creaking groan.

The noise stops and our eyes finally meet again. I don't even blink as I approach him and his cell.

He looks clean and fed, the bed is freshly made, and an empty plate is near his red sneakers. Maybe the accommodations softened him up.

"Why are _you _here?"

Painfully bitter. There go my hopes of this being easy to deal with. That, and now I know Bunnie is a liar.

"Shouldn't you know?"

"You want something from me and whatever it is, I am not going to give it to you."

I grin. He isn't scared of me.

"You're quick to the point aren't you? Maybe I came to say hello? Maybe I just wanted to check up on you?"

"Tails you're the worst liar in Mobius."

"Your point?"

"Don't try to buddy-buddy with me."

"Fine, but do you really want to make this hard on yourself? Are you that determined to make me do something more drastic?"

I put my hand slowly on the cell door, the keys in my pocket jingle.

"If you even attempt to open this cell, I will cut you in half."

"I think you would hesitate a little on that…"

"You wouldn't."

"I have my reasons."

He looks surprised to hear me say that.

"If you want to maintain our friendship, you might want to explain yourself Tails."

"First things first, my name is Miles. Secondly, if you want to 'maintain' a healthy state of mind, I suggest you stop banging on your cell."

"Changing your name huh? Is that your way of forgetting?"

"It's part of it."

"And the other parts would be?"

I back off, and turn away. I run my fingers through my hair. This is stressing me out

"You wouldn't understand all right?"

His breath picks up, and I think may have just broken him.

"Really? Do you not remember playing in the Great Forest? The missions we went on? Crying in my arms after a bad dream? Tails, I've been there for you your whole life! How the hell would I not 'understand' what you're going through?"

I feel tired, and my eyes feel heavy.

"Because, you don't know what pain is."

"What?! Are you kidding?"

"I don't joke around anymore Sonic. I'm not a little kid."

"It's a real a shame to hear that from you."

Silence.

It's a good thing my back's turned, or he just might see the tears in my eyes.

Ugh. This isn't fair. Here I was trying to manipulate him, and now it seemed he's returned the favor.

"Tails I—"

Turning back to him I explode.

"My name is Miles! Miles! M-I-L-E-S Do you understand that!? Do you!?"

"If you keep all those feelings inside you like that, you're just gonna tear yourself apart."

"Just shut the hell up! If the noise doesn't stop by tomorrow you're going to be waterskiing off this ship by your neck! _That is final!_"

"Guess I'll be seeing you real soon then."

Before anything else could be said I stormed away. Ass. Who the hell was he? Does he know who he's messing with? He got the best of me. This is great because now he's probably going to be even louder.

Hm? Where am I?

Looks like my anger brought me to the upper deck. I saunter to the railings and for awhile, I watch the black waves. A real calming practice for me, I never really get seasick that much.

Darkness is abounding except for the full moon. A strong wind blows sending jolts up my spine. Night has fallen. It's funny, out here the stars shine brighter than in the cities, and I can see all of the constellations. It all reminds of those times in Knothole when I used to watch them from my bedroom window.

It's stupid really. I used to pray to the moon and stars. Asking for wishes, for strength, for love, for…everything really.

My fist slams the railing.

I am going to have to kill that hedgehog.

All he does is piss me off, and remind me of things I swore I had erased.

What is the past?

It's supposed to shape the future. You're supposed to learn from it, learn from your mistakes. Yet all I want to do is forget. I don't want to see anyone's face ever again; I just want to be alone. Everyone thinks I'm fine, but I'm not. Not here.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My emotions are coming back. One talk with Sonic and my composure is slipping? My black gloves wipe my face in one quick motion. If the past was this easy to get rid of, you wouldn't rely on it.

I shake my head back and forth.

Wake me up from this dream. You know what you had to do. You were supposed to. There was no other way. How'd did you know what would happen? You didn't. You're fine. Just keep saying it. You're fine. Nothing's wrong here. It's just a phase. I can condition it out. I just need to keep saying it.

I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine.

Damn it this isn't working. What's wrong with me? Why can't I shake this? Why am I being so weak? Why now? Why again?

I look up to the full moon feeling a little nostalgic.

Softly I begin to whisper.

It's just like when I was a child. I'm praying to the moon.

"Can you tell me how to get out of this? Could you save me just this once? I don't care how bad it gets after this. I'm sorry for everything this time. I'll do whatever it takes to justify this. I…"

For a moment I pause.

What do I want?

Now I remember.

I remember why I'm so upset.

"I just want redemption."

The craters just look back.

A minute passes with our staring contest.

Oh god. Who the hell am I kidding? A moonlight confession? Like this'll really change anything. I'm such a pussy. Nothing is going to happen. I might as well go try to get some more sleep. I'll feel better in the morning, and with a level head I'll sort this all out.

Miles, how can you live with being so pathetic?

**SCREEEEEEECHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

What the hell?

**BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMCRASHSLAMSNAPSNAPSNAPSNAPSNAPSNAP**

**WHATTHEHELLHOWAMIFLYINGFALLINGKAPLOOSHSWATERCOLDSHITWHATWHATWHATISGOINGONHERESURFACESURFACE**

**YOUNEEDTOSURFACEBREATHEBREATHEYOUCAN'TBREATHEUNDERWATERIDIOTSURFACE**

**BREATHETHESHIPWHEREISTHESHIPBEHINDMEOHGODWHEREISEVERYBODYIT'SSINKINGWHYHOWISITSINKING**

**S T A R I N G F O R W A R D**

The adrenaline has completed its course through my bones.

The bow of the ship is officially vertical.

I don't hear any screaming, and fire is encircling the entire ship. It's like the underworld is opening up and taking souls. You see? This is why oil shouldn't be on ships. Where is anybody anyway? Someone else had to be on the deck besides me right?

God damn it.

Mother Ocean is hungrier than I imagined. Her force is unparalleled. A couple of lifeboats are falling, but I still see no one.

Forty-five seconds is all it took and now it's gone.

Sort of trivial really because I'll be with them all soon.

You can't tread water forever no matter how strong you are.

Minutes pass and my hamstrings can't take much more of this. This is it. I'm gonna drown. Mortality is the only route to liberation? Maybe a prayer would be appropriate. God can take apologies. He'll understand. He's omniscient and he knows my pain. Then again, my ship just sunk.

"Tails!"

Huh? Who's there?

I turn to see Bunnie. Bunnie?! In a lifeboat! Coming to save my life?! Thank god!

Her metal arm pulls me in quickly.

"You okay sugah?"

Without hesitation I hug her intensely. I am just so happy to be alive from this.

"I-I am all right. A little shaken is all."

My mind burns with questions; God can wait for another day.

"Was there anybody else with you? What happened?"

Her solemn look says everything.

"It looks like one of engines blew up; an internal explosion. I was on deck looking for you and by the time I found you…well you know…"

This isn't good.

"Figures as much. We should check for survivors."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Miles, how long do you think it's going to take for all that fire to burn out?"

Her reasoning was stronger than the smell of the oil. It could take days for that inferno to burn out. Anyone attempting to surface now with either burn from the fires, or choke to death from the smoke.

Speaking of, that smog is getting closer.

"Forget it then. Let's just get out of here."

My hands fumble through the dark until I find an oar. Wooden and heavy I attack the crests and troughs. It'll be awhile until morning and until then, we need to get as far away from this area as possible.

* * *

It's hard to tell how long it's been, and how long I've been doing this; stroking through these waves. Bunnie hasn't said a word since we left.

For once, there is no plan of action.

Well there is one, and it's called surviving.

The story of my life if there could ever be one.

The sun's starting to rise. Which means it's been at least eight to nine hours since it all happened.

I stopped rowing awhile back. My hands are blistered and tired, my triceps feel torn, and my shoulders are limp. For now, I need some sleep.

I don't even know why I kept rowing for so long.

Hm?

Her blue eyes just opened, groggily they find mine, Bunnie's awake.

I probably should've made her do this; she's got a metal arm. That has to be easier than me doing it.

"You awake?"

"Sure hun."

Sitting up, she stretches her arms above her head. A loud yawn followed by scanning our surroundings.

"Bunnie?"

"Yeah?"

I finally ask the question that's been convulsing my mind.

"How are we going to survive out here?"

"I don't know."

Her answer stalls me. My feet just rock back and forth against the currents. I thought she might have more of a plan than I did. The sun is revealing the ashen clouds around us, which couldn't be a worse reminder of the situation; bleak. What were we going to do for food? Or water for that matter? Without food you can last for weeks, but without water you only have three days or so. Three days. Seventy-two hours of suffering. I haven't eaten or drank anything since I went to sleep back on board. Bunnie's part robot. Does she really need anything to eat or drink? Or can she survive forever?

I look up to see her staring at me.

"I'll start rowing again. Maybe we can find some island or something, ok?"

"Sure thing."

She turns back around and stares out at the ocean.

The oar is in my hands now. I'm trembling a little, but I've figured it all out.

She's going to kill me. She's going to outlast me. This is her plan. She's going to tire me out, wear me down. I am not going to let this happen. I'm the one who needs food. Not her.

Bunnie is my primary source of food.

There is always a plan of action.

It's called surviving.

And to survive…you have to do whatever it takes.

"Hey Bunnie."

She doesn't know it, but I'm standing up.

"Yea--"

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

This oar isn't too hard to swing.

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**TWAP!**

**twap…**

**twap…**

The oar drops. I'm done. I did it.

She's a real mess now.

Her skull is cracked open. I can see her brain, it's purple. She must have had aneurysms. My first strike was a knockout blow. There was no pain. But her face…you can't even recognize her anymore. Cheekbones, ears, nose, they're all broken. Marrow, blood, and some hints of oil are now residing in a pool beneath her. I'll need to take the meat from her organic chest and her head. As I much as I can before it gets too late. Humans eat rabbit all the time, so it shouldn't taste bad. Raw or not.

Even if this prolongs my death just by a little it'll be worth it. I won't give into madness. I am not insane. My pride just won't let me slip.

This thinking is wasting my time.

I better start getting to work.

* * *

It was right there that I knew made the right decision.

But there was still that one lingering thought…

This isn't how you're supposed to treat friends.

As the notion continued to play over and over again in my mind, I realized something.

Friends?

Heh. I never really had any.

_Maverick87-2008_


	4. Jumbled

**The Triumvirate**

**Chapter 3: Jumbled**

Things have hit a painful rut. My food source is already null and depleted. Bunnie, who I thought had some organic material within her, is actually all metal. All of her is inedible and pointless.

My first question is to ask, what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Water is all I see. And who knows of land? I didn't look at the maps. That's why you have a navigator, you don't need to know where you're going, you just pay some guy to do it himself. You trust him and let him guide you to your destination. A lot of power goes into one person. A good rule of thumb is to not piss him off. Otherwise you end up in someplace you never imagined, and he's jumped ship to meet his family in some backwater town. Everybody gets restless and then some serious problems arise.

The only star that matters is right above my head and it warms, and burns me. Noon means nothing I guess. It means…well that's it really.

But the stupid rabbit is a robot.

She has no use because I turned her off with my oar. Whoever made her did a marvelous job too. White metal to resemble bones, red and blue wires to represent nerve endings and capillaries, glass eyes, and fur from animals I've never met or cared about; a true enigma of unknown. She could be from a million places and made out of a million people.

The person I called an aunt my whole life, the person I had cared about for a long time, was a machine.

May the waters reset and may the sun decompose these findings.

With most of my strength I pick up her heavy body, and with a loud grunt that nobody hears, I toss her into the water. She sinks fast and I barely see her again. Gone. She was a close person. A pretty voice, and all this time, a good person; the worker who created her had pleasant intentions in mind.

Bless the creator, because she was a damn angel. Even if the metal is devil's clothing.

If I could weigh my past it'd be made of iron like her. Forceful like her, cool, smooth, tempered, built….happy, memorable, friendly….

God damn it all.

Thinking about the past too much makes you go crazy, or so I've heard. But tears just make it worse.

I feel honored to be alone though.

At least the only mocking will be my own.

* * *

It's taken until just now to stop crying over Bunnie. I killed my aunt. Struck her down from greed and malice, she wouldn't have killed me would she? Should I have waited to find out? Surely she would have let me live. I was her friend.

But I murdered her.

Robot or not, she had feelings, memories, love. Even if she was a possible threat as a Robian, she couldn't have created such compassion with other people. Her southern belle voice, the way she used to tuck me into bed, the fights against Robotnik; there were no break downs here. She was perfect until my weapon smashed her in. She was…a lot of things.

My body slowly leans over the edge of the rowboat. My black gloves dip into the water. I splash my face with the burning salts. The reflection barely simmers. A red puffy face, bloodshot cobalt eyes, and broken thoughts to champion my ensemble; I'm a complete mess. I'm fucking pathetic. The accident has attacked and lowered my defenses. Seems worthy of me.

Emotion can be bottled up, but that doesn't mean it won't break when it hits the floor. Brooms, dustpans, vacuums, and mops can't clean this up. The stain is embedded in.

I am the crossroad between animals and humans. The link lies within my species.

But lately, the line is getting blurry.

And I don't which side to lean toward anymore.

Tears. Again.

* * *

Time came slow. The night wisped me to sleep. A full moon illuminated my hellish awakenings, but my exhaustion and stress tore apart my fear. This I secretly thanked. My slumbers tend to be irregular and during daylight hours, when others are up and about.

This is what paranoia does this to you. Insomnia does this to you. Boats exploding do this too, and so does murder. Combine the poisons for nightmares and twitching. Call the doctor that doesn't exist. Take those pills you think you're holding. Swallow the whole bottle. Let it digest. Breathe out.

Do you feel better?

I didn't think so.

* * *

Clouds have formed and rotated around. There are no shapes that resemble objects. My climate is still warm and fuzzy. Paradise is found and I hate every minute of it. My stomach is the reason why I've woken up. I need food.

Peering over the edge I find a fish, actually, a school of them. They all look luscious and meaty. My tongue salivates and I swallow the spit. Breakfast will be served.

My arm just dips in. The water feels warmer than before. A big fish swims up to the boat. It has to be twenty or thirty pounds. Speed and precision are with me. With a swipe he's in my hands. He wiggles harshly and my grip tightens.

SMACK.

The tailfin slaps my face and I rear back for a second. Luckily my hold stays with me, and I pull him up and over my head into the boat. His body flops and flaps on the boat floor. I don't think. The oar is in my hands like before. I bring it down hard upon the fish's head. Splat. One strike and the head has ruptured. I put the oar down. My hands claw at the dead animal. Ripping him open becomes easy. Ribs and plenty of meat become my treasure.

Here is where I revert back to simpler roots. I'm just eating. Bones, eyeballs, the brain; my assault continues and ravages. It's crunchy, tasty, and good. My throat swallows and each time I feel energy return to me.

Barbaric is a term for those untested against the world. Civility is for those who refuse to handle it.

You have to take what you can get your hands on. No matter what consequence or the cost.

It took most of my childhood to figure that out.

It saved my life.

* * *

The waves get bigger when storms come along like this. My island barely seems ready, and I feel the same way. I should make a shelter to protect myself. But I'd like to let it in. Let the rain fall down on me. Let the lightning light up my skies. Let the thunder rattle my ears.

I need some lethargic therapy.

* * *

That fish was the only luck I ever had for the rest of the day. All the others kept escaping me. Falling back into the deep I watched my dinners disappear forever. Even now I can still hear them laughing.

I'll try again later.

* * *

I slept on empty. Day two and exhaustion has made a return. Welcome back old friend. Don't help me with these fish. Yeah it's okay. Let them escape. It's fine. Really. I'll just starve to death.

It's not like I need to eat to survive.

Fucking jackass.

* * *

There's no water. I can't drink the water around me. Water is ninety percent of my body. I can't drink myself.

Can I?

* * *

My urine tasted bad. Now I feel sick. But if I throw up I'll just lose more energy. I just need to be calm. I just need to breathe out.

I just…

Stomach, sharp pains, I can't hold back.

My only fish says hello in pieces.

* * *

I neeeeeeeeeeeeeed water.

* * *

Liquid.

* * *

Dehydration right? Is this how it goes? I was talking to Bunnie a second ago. She said she didn't mind me killing her. Stay sane. She said she deserved it. Be serene. Said she was total bitch. Don't lose control. I giggle now. Silly girls with their silly ways.

Hey Bunnie do you think I'm going to die?

Hey!?

Where did she go?

* * *

Dead. I'm fucking dead this time. I knew better. Let my soul rest please. Death please. Past please. Heaven please.

Boom. Flash. White lights.

Thank you God.

* * *

Water!? Rain! Rain! Rain! Rain! Soak me from head to toe!

Salvation? Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

* * *

Restoration has come with the rain. I didn't notice the storm until it fell into my mouth. My breath comes back. I go back to the thoughts at hand. I must get more food. Pray that this havoc continues.

Gray clouds are my keys to survival.

I like the color gray.

* * *

Everything is back on track. I've caught three fish. Three meals for today. My hunting skills have improved immensely too.

Maybe I can do this.

* * *

I ate the first fish clean and used his hollow body as a bowl. My water problem is solved for now. I have realized that I'm more intelligent than I thought.

Building planes is easy compared to this. But even now I find this simple too.

Anything can be routine. You can get used to anything.

I've mastered this domain.

* * *

Days keep passing the same. My claws have carved the days since the boat sank. Seven days. The fish keep coming though. And the precipitation has been delicate; only in flashes and very soft. Like a constant sea breeze that always invites you.

It's nice.

* * *

The rains have stopped but I have six bowls of water. They'll come back. Storms are abundant on the sea right?

Of course they are.

* * *

The sun just keeps rising and falling. Three times over now.

Land? Is there land anywhere in this universe?

* * *

Bad luck tonight. I tried to catch a fish in the dark….and succeeded….in knocking over all my water bowls.

Everything the sky gave I just wasted away. I drank as much as I could. The sun evaporated the rest.

Now I sit and wait for the insanity again.

It'll be here in a couple of days.

Fuck. Me.

* * *

I keep staring off. I can't stop looking towards nothing. There's no heaven or hell. This is purgatory. I died when the boat blew up. My body is in pieces at the bottom of this never ending, ocean.

Bunnie's in heaven right now and she's probably laughing her ass off.

* * *

The fish blood didn't quench me or help.

* * *

No water. No life. No land. No clothes. No hope.

* * *

The fish keep fucking mocking me! Stop talking to me! I'll fucking kill you!

* * *

Night. Cold. I'm so cold and shivering and breaking sweats and Bunnie and Antoine keep asking me if I'm okay.

Are they blind?

Sunrise and the water looks invigorating. Let me in. I want to wake up now.

God?

He's somewhere around here watching.

Maybe he's in the water.

I scratch number fourteen.

* * *

The water feels so good!

I can see the surface drift away!

I can…………………………………………………………………………………………………

...

* * *

I shudder. Every time I think back to the boat I get sick. Those days feel blurry, like a bad photograph, or a dizzy spell.

I had lost my mind and don't even remember doing it; a scary thought to say the least. But here I am right? God spared me to an island and I am exiled to live here.

That rain keeps coming in closer and shelter lies from all around me.

I can't think what'll happen if I stay out here on the beach. Pneumonia? A cold? Death?

I guess looking back, I was close enough to all three as it was.

But the rowboat brought me there, and if that couldn't kill me.

Then could a storm really do any justice?

_-Maverick87-2008_


	5. Unreliable Contradictions

**The Triumvirate**

**Chapter 4: Unreliable Contradictions**

I have to admit, I like myself more these days.

Waves can crash against me now, and I can still stand. Undertows don't pull me across the beaches. My fishing habits have improved as well. A week of physical therapy didn't hurt either.

But I needed that storm. The rain gave me a reason. I crawled under my palm trees for shelter, and then I just sat there and watched it come in. Lightning flashed worse than a thousand cameras, which was a metaphor I could remember identifying with. The clouds had become dark blue; I was reminded of my eyes. My eyes told me that I still felt the same.

* * *

Every drop of rain falls like the tears I should be crying. Mother Nature likes to be resentful towards people like me. She's raging right now. And from the bulk of this storm, I'd say she's on steroids. The anabolic ones that make you kill yourself.

The sand is mushier than the crap I used to eat on the ship, but it's workable. I take a deep breath and I keep watching. Winds cool my skin and I can feel the dirt and grime fly out of me, which feels pretty purifying.

But it isn't enough to make me change.

Bunnie used to talk about I had changed, as a person. How I had become so angry with the world. The funny thing is that she was a robot. How the hell was she supposed to know about change? A built in personality with no mistakes doesn't even need to. I envied her. I wish I could have been reprogrammed like that.

Could you imagine your life without ever doubting a single thing? It would erase most of my thoughts. Then maybe the sandman would give me a break.

I hold my right arm up to my face. The lightning illuminates it in a grander light. My fur has become a darker orange, and I don't need the sun to see something like that. I hold up my left arm. It's shaven from yesterday and it reminds me of how skinny I've become. You don't get much when you're in a situation like mine. With both of them held up, I make a comparison.

The right arm is the fur that binds me to the past. The left arm is part of my recovery. My idea is that if I shave the fur, the same fur I was born with, that maybe then I can become a different person.

It's time to put my plan into action, even with all this rain.

Call it a physical mediation, or yoga or something…

* * *

Looking back on it, my plan did have a silver lining. It made me cooler when the wind blew, and when my strength got back up, it made me that much faster on foot. Hunting crabs, fishing, even killing a couple of birds with some stones lying around became easier. Two birds with one stone had a funny meaning in those days.

But right now there's a pretty sunset, right in between the two palm trees I call my hammock. I'm still partial to sunrises though. They seem more meaningful to me. Call it rising up from the darkness, instead of settling down into it, either way though, they are beautiful spectacles of nature. Don't tell me about sunsets though. I'm not even close to descending into another black hole.

...

God, why does it feel like I'm telling myself a big lie? It always seems that the moments when you're sober you think about getting drunk and vice versa. Talk about a vice huh? Things always creep in my mind like the sound of escaping prisoners, and I'm the weak guard who hopes he doesn't find any of them.

I think my own mind is more of nerve poison than alcohol ever was.

* * *

I am completely vulnerable. Naked to the gales and sea breezes and my body wants to shiver. It forgot how to. I merely walk. Part of me wants to cut down all the palm trees. They remind me of hotels or those shitty towns who pretend to be tropical. And in this furless universe I've created I can finally remember who I was. Little specks of blood appear all over me and I've heard humans complain about waxing. Yet the beauty of rubbing your back against a palm tree too long is a better substitution.

To call this repentance; it won't fill the cup or make the drink.

* * *

After that I don't remember many days here. I see myself in the reflected water. Cleaner than before and my clothes complimented my previous attitude; they were both dissolved and in patches.

This is to say I'm not as perfect as I demanded. Perfection is a lover and even right now I want my fur back, or to go take a shower, or slam a shot of whiskey to feel the burn in my stomach.

Everyone does what they can to be perfect or to feel its hangnails. Who was the fundamental person?

Because the anatomy is gray and who was I kidding about change?

Nobody changes themselves, they only change the situation. Even by existing you add a different flavor to the mix. I'm a fox on an island. The odds probably won't happen again. To all the crabs, ants, and birds my being here is an anomaly. The history of this place is altered. Now the timeline of the island can have a little schism or groove in it, or maybe an asterisk where it reads "Tails was here and thought about philosophical discourse". It always feels like cynicism and pathetic laughter are thin borderlines.

The tides pull in and out. There's a couple of jagged rocks that grin in circumstantial formation. I've noticed them before too, but not like this. A hungry grin with my blinks making it more and more mischievous.

The ocean and the beach face me again; an aberration combined with a natural, haunting melody of disgust. We were friends a long time ago. A calming tinge. Yet like most friends we get out of touch and unlearn ourselves. The salt stings and focus infects all things you used to like about each other.

The endless blue, the warm sky, nature in perfect agreement…

Silence and loneliness and all you face is yourself and everything else.

And a red blip arriving, coming closer. Sort of like something that's anything my mind could put to use. A red laser from incoming submarines, a mitten, a human heart, a animal one? Something useful please.

Time creeps like a child waiting for an answer. Yet what does nature bring me now? This'll be the first time I get a gift. Part of me gets a little excited, giddy really. Maybe it's a phone, the red phone? Hah, what to do with a phone? As it finally rolls in, I walk forward to see my prize. I squat down.

A shoe.

A red shoe, with a gold buckle missing. The tip is pointed. I bring it to my face and stare, then sniff the inside. It smells familiar like morning dew or cooking.

The memory flickers,  
then fades,  
then expands into a staggering moment.

The shoe doesn't have a sole.

Please tell me my pistol is about to wash up beside it, so I watch my brains fall out of my head. Again I'm phasing inward and outward of static personalities.

It's Sonic and my life still lurches on. Out of comparison or fairness, where and when do I cease the horror?

It wasn't me that changed, it was the situation, Sonic died because the ship exploded, not because I put him on there, it was Antoine, the rat bastard, who thought it would be funny if we took him on a pleasure cruise. It was no real reason just for the kicks, it's just a damn shoe, it could be nothing more I'm jumping to conclusions, Sonic doesn't die on such an anticlimax, I've read books this isn't how anything works right?

Right?

Chirps from some bird, another stupid wave rolls in, just forget me.

I wasn't supposed to care this far or this much. I thought I had resolve or talent. Stoicism can't rise up. There are no phoenixes here for me to mimic. Just sickly little tears that were supposed to be beaten out of me a long time ago.

It's not me. It's the situation. Solidarity is the crier.

Snap snap snap, I start chewing my claws.

* * *

Beyond the fragmented sleep I keep waking to the sound of my own dreams. Childhood laced with poisonous foams. As if every time I go to speak, smoke emerges from my mouth. This causes screams and shakes and slumbered conversations. The whole time I'm clutching the shoe or gnawing on the ends.

Like any scientific element I must have a breaking or melting point. The only problem is the reaction is unknown.

Alone in the psychosis…whether I'm feeding, eating it, or killing it. Specially made for me as the cards fall.

Part of me knows it's worthless too.

* * *

I've buried the shoe and tried not to dig it back up. It's done. No "x" on the map. All that's left is living here, survival.

It keeps coming back to that. It must be psychosomatic. Because otherwise I wouldn't be here, there'd be a plan. Contentment doesn't seem so far away, I only hope I don't fall out of it as easy as last time.

Tails, you're done with all the horror. Confinement is all that's left. I should be happy for this development. It's a damn shoe.

* * *

Some more days pass with no real conception of time or space. There's other animals here eating other animals.

Again there's no conception for that either.

Only sporadic rest and the island low. The waiting game with no rules.

Partial to sunrises again, but only for the mockery, the laughter, and the logistics.

Yet there's a whirr in the air. An archaic sound moving in closer to my ears. Sand picks itself up as if inside an turned hourglass. The palm trees sway and verge on breaking. Death again? Or a hallucinogen based failure of the mind?

A worthless enquiry.

Blades are spinning; it's an imminent rescue. Their helicopter, my helicopter, and there's no former faces.

Only a logo I've sworn to love.


End file.
